


against the wind

by darutias



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Caring!Snotlout, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frostbite, Gen, Healing, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III Whump, Hurt Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Night Fury Healing Saliva!, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Race To The Edge, Stranded, those are tags i'm alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darutias/pseuds/darutias
Summary: When Hiccup and Snotlout get stranded, they have to work together to stay alive.Easier said than done.





	against the wind

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written lol
> 
> brief warnings for a panic attack, vomiting due to pain, fever dreams, & some injury gore. everything between snotlout & hiccup is platonic. take what you will between the dragons. takes place right after 'not lout'. bit of implied dragonese bc i'm weak o k
> 
>  
> 
> [for ambience (youtube link)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YKHKBgfQf0&t=10s)

When the hunters had come, they’d been ready: split formation, cover Snotlout’s flank, let Hookfang take care of the ship’s wooden deck while Hiccup directed fire at himself.

What they hadn’t accounted for was Ryker.

//

“It’s cold,” Snotlout complains, lips nearly blue and hands shoved under his armpits. Hiccup feels that straight down to his aching bones. “Out of all Thor-forsaken places to land, _here_? Really?”

“We can’t be far from Glacier Island,” Hiccup mutters, more to himself than his companion. His eyes skim over the pocket-sized map, tracking the path from Dragon’s Edge to Glacier Island, to the string of islands northwest—they’d washed up on the ice somewhere in between. “Given that it’s about five hours to the Edge, I’d say we’re about… nine from our current location.”

“Fantastic.” Snotlout snorts. “That’s by _dragon_. We have no dragons.”

He makes a good point. 

Shoving the map back in his bracer, Hiccup contemplates their current predicament: stranded, without dragons, with no supplies. No shortage of fresh water, considering their only source of company at the moment are ice sheets and streams eroding through the peaks of the lower glaciers. Unfortunately for them, the terrain makes for less than ideal camping circumstances, and he’s at a loss for where to set up for the night.

“If that wraith finds us, we’re dead,” Snotlout helpfully points out. Hiccup rubs the bridge of his nose. “Who knows how many there are around here? Or other… snow dragons.”

“That’s not helping,” Hiccup snaps, facing the daunting task ahead of them: nothing but ice caves, sharp and wicked and gleaming, a promise of a bitterly cold death. Behind them isn’t any better—not like they could swim the length of the ocean back to the Edge—and Hiccup’s mind isn’t working nearly as fast as it should. He’s cold, his hands are purpling from the bite of the air, and Snotlout is huffing as though this is all Hiccup’s fault in the first place.

“We need shelter,” Hiccup starts, glancing above. The clouds hang low and ominous, a promise of storm; he’d take the sickly humidity over the blizzard sure to drown them. “If we head deep enough in, we can at least be protected from the wind.”

Snotlout throws his hands up in the air, deeply offended by the notion. “Oh, great! Let’s just _head inside a giant ice mountain!_ When has that ever backfired on us?”

He breathes in deeply, the swell of the cold stinging his nose. “Do you have a better idea, Snotlout? We stay out here, we freeze. We can’t swim—”

“ _I_ can swim—”

“Then by all means, swim back to the Edge and get help.”

That shuts him up for a second, Snotlout’s nose wrinkling in disapproval, but Hiccup doesn’t have the energy for his insecurity right now.

“If we’re inside _something_ , we have a better chance.” The odds aren’t great, but they’ve survived worse. He needs Snotlout to trust him, but the open wounds of Spitelout’s words are still tender, and the dragon root incident is fresh in their minds. “We can figure out what to do from there.”

Snotlout huffs, clearly annoyed. Nevertheless, he starts heading towards the jut of one of the caves, calling out a begrudged, “Fine, but if we die, I’m haunting you first!”

It’s a start.

//

They don’t make it very far.

“I told you so,” Snotlout mumbles, shivering growing worse. The farther in they travel, the worse it gets; Hiccup isn’t deterred, but he’s dressed more for the weather than Snotlout is, and he’s sympathetic for his cousin. If they had their supplies, they’d be better off. His satchel is with Toothless, and unless they can find somewhere to settle for the next couple of hours, he can’t produce a fire to sustain them.

“Better than freezing outside,” Hiccup argues, eyeing the walls of the cavern. It’s rather eerie, their only light source being the odd crack in the ceiling allowing daylight in, and the howling of the wind confirms Hiccup’s fears. “At least in here, we won’t be caught in the blizzard.”

Snotlout snuffles, arm swiping at his nose. Hiccup wishes he could offer his cousin something other than words of pessimistic wisdom, but they’re both currently screwed at the moment.

“There’s no light down there,” Snotlout says, no longer following behind Hiccup. “You can keep going, but I’m not risking falling down some hole and breaking my neck.”

Hiccup has to admit that’s fair, and he sighs, palming at the wall; it’s just as bitterly cold as the air surrounding them. Blankets would be useful.

“Alright,” Hiccup concedes, plopping himself down on the floor. It’s wet and cold, sending shivers down the core of his spine; he expects nothing less from a cave made of literal ice and frozen rock. Thank the gods for spending his entire life on Berk—they’ve dealt with situations like this. Sort of. “We can’t fall asleep, and since we have no other way to stay warm—”

“No _way_.” Snotlout raises his hands, backing up a bit, and Hiccup rolls his eyes. He’s too tired for the dramatics. “I am _not_ holding you. This is my body heat. Get your own.”

“Snotlout—”

“Nope.”

Hiccup drags a hand through his hair, a frustrated groan escaping chapped lips before he can swallow it down; it’s an argument not worth having, so he ignores the other’s presence for the time being, untying his prosthetic and folding his good leg up against his chest. If they want to survive, they need a fire; no better time to test out whether or not his makeshift survival kit survived both the dip in the ocean and the struggle with the hunters.

Snotlout, sitting against the opposite wall, graces him with a wary question. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” Hiccup says shortly, digging out the back of the wood. The flint pops out after much prodding, worse for wear but otherwise usable, and Hiccup breathes a sigh of relief. He reaches for the dagger in his boot, flicks it open, and tears at the folded leg of his pants, giving it a swift slice; it’s not a whole lot of fabric, but it’s enough to give them a taste of warmth for the time being.

Unfortunately, he can’t light a fire on ice, and he’ll probably regret this.

“I have to use the base of my leg,” Hiccup explains, not meeting Snotlout’s gaze as he unhooks the clamp of the foot to the wooden support. Shoving the shredded remains of his pantleg into the base, he smacks the flint against the steel of the false foot, praying to the gods that it works.

Snotlout catches on.

“You put flint in your leg,” he says, shifting closer and inspecting the sad excuse for a fire pit. Hiccup nods, focusing on the task at hand. “Woah, that’s… you’re so _weird_. But isn’t that… I mean, that’s gonna burn up eventually, right?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t have a spare.”

“Nope.”

Snotlout slaps a hand to his forehead, elbows resting on his knees as realization dawns on him. Hiccup’s sympathy has drained with the remainder of the heat; he’s currently the one down to a single leg. “Oh, my Thor. If I have to carry you, I swear to _Odin_ —”

“If it gets to the point that you have to carry me,” Hiccup interjects, slamming the flint particularly hard, “it’ll probably be too late, so don’t worry. We have no weapons, Snotlout. No dragons. If we don’t have fire, we’ll die. We have no food. If the hunters find us, you’ll run.”

Snotlout, apparently finally catching on that Hiccup has planned this outcome since they settled, stares at him in absolute, searing anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouts, standing up and towering over Hiccup; fire comes first, so Hiccup not-so-happily ignores him. “You… I’m not gonna _leave_ you! Astrid would kill me! Your _dad_ would kill me!”

“That’s assuming the cold doesn’t first,” Hiccup helpfully supplies, sick and tired of this conversation already. Maybe it’s Snotlout caring in his own way, but Hiccup can’t feel the tips of his fingers and he’s exposed in a way that only a few have seen. “Sit down before you expend the rest of your heat, Snotlout.”

Spluttering, Snotlout starts pacing, hands in his hair. Hiccup briefly mourns the loss of that stupid helmet—would have made a better fire pit, probably.

“Snotlout,” he warns, jerking back when sparks flicker and the fabric holds onto the flame. It’s a slow burn, but it’s enough to get it started, and Hiccup _laughs_ , relief washing over him as the heat tickles his cheeks. “Oh, thank the gods.”

Snotlout isn’t as impressed. “Yeah, thank the gods that you’re gonna be useless if we get ambushed!”

That strikes a nerve; Hiccup’s glare is venomous, a shadow of the days past.

“Careful.” _Treading dangerous territory_. “I can barely feel my legs in this cold, Snotlout, even with my prosthetic. Your point is moot, and all the energy you’re wasting would be better spent _calming down_.”

He can see that Snotlout wants to argue, wants to fight and spit and tear apart at the seams, but it dies on his lips; Snotlout sits, breathing heavily on the opposing side of the small fire, hands over the flickering heat. He won’t look at Hiccup, and Hiccup doesn’t ask him to.

“They have Toothless,” Hiccup whispers eventually, staring absently at the burning cloth. They’ll need more soon. Stronger, he says, “Someone has to get out of here. Get help. The others will have noticed we’re missing by now, and they know what way we went.”

Snotlout says nothing.

//

The hardest part is undressing.

“I lied. _This_ is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” Snotlout tells him, Hiccup struggling out of his armours. He might not be making the smartest choices tonight, but if it saves their lives, it’ll be worth it; besides, Snotlout didn’t come prepared, and Hiccup has more than three layers on a standard precaution. “You’re gonna freeze your butt off before sunrise.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hiccup argues, shrugging out of his armoured tunic. The air is biting, so he works quickly, shimmying down to his under-most layer and yanking it over his head. Tossing it to Snotlout, he instructs, “Start tearing it up. Thin pieces.”

Disgruntled, Snotlout does as he’s told, and Hiccup redresses as quickly as possible. His hands are shaking and there’s a tremor clinging to his vertebrae, the settle of ice in his bones from the seeping wind; if, gods forbid, they burn through this, he’s not sure what they’ll have left. Snotlout’s arms are bare, and while his cousin is more muscle than flesh, Hiccup would rather not test the waters of how long either of them can stand the below freezing temperatures.

“We need water,” Hiccup states, chewing the inside of his lip. The easiest method would be to melt some of the ice; he reaches for his shoulder guard, abandoned on the ground, and hands it to Snotlout. “Scrape some ice into it, and we’ll melt it. It’ll be a process, but at least it gives us something to do.”

Snotlout just stares at him.

“What?” Hiccup mutters, arm outstretched; his leg aches and his entire bottom half is completely numb, and he’s pretty sure if they make it out of this alive, he’s going to be losing some toes. He makes an aborted gesture to the empty space where his leg should be. “I can’t exactly go ice chipping myself, here.”

“Maybe _I_ have some ideas,” Snotlout mutters, red-faced and angry, and Hiccup blames it on the cold, the weight of the situation. They’ve been through this, and he gets it, he does, but this really, really isn’t the time.

He gives him the benefit of the doubt. “Well, do you?”

Snotlout shrugs, folding his arms over his chest and gaze flickering skyward. “Not like you’d listen even if I _did_.”

“Since when do I—Snotlout, where is this coming from?”

“You _know_ where it’s coming from,” he snaps, as though Hiccup should be begging for forgiveness, and the stirrings of a migraine begins to bloom behind his right eye. Snotlout curls his hand into a fist. “Just… we wouldn’t be stuck here if you had listened!”

Hiccup balks at that, confusion soon taking its place. He hadn’t _asked_ Snotlout to come with him to scout, and yes, things had gone awful quickly, but Snotlout’s looking at him with such open anger and disbelief that Hiccup spares a moment to wonder if perhaps they had ever been on the same page. The fight drains out of Snotlout just as fast, though; he slinks back against the wall, rubbing his hands against the exposed skin of his arms. Danger of frostbite. The longer they’re trapped, the worse it’ll be.

“Viggo might have… y’know, _cancelled_ the bounty or whatever,” Snotlout mutters, eventually reaching for the shoulder guard and scraping some ice. Hiccup prods at their pathetic excuse for a fire. “Which, by the way? The entire _Archipelago_ was looking for you. I doubt every single scumbag got the memo.”

He has no idea where Snotlout is going with this, or if he has any intention of elaborating. Hiccup’s cold and sore and anxious, and both of their dragons are gone, and Snotlout isn’t making any _gods-forsaken_ sense; he has the overwhelming urge to curl up on the frozen ground and sleep, though that alone is a death sentence. Even sleeping in shifts is next to impossible, but the fire is beginning to dwindle, so he tosses in more of their makeshift kindling. He’ll have to sacrifice bits of his armoured tunic next.

Snotlout works in silence, melting the water. It’s a slow process, and he transfers it to the second guard, passing it over to Hiccup with a steady hand and says, “Here. You look like you’re about to keel over, and I refuse to eat your corpse.”

He supposes he’s forgiven—for now.

Hiccup takes the water, his hands far less steadier.

//

The next hour passes much of the same.

They sit mostly in the quiet, harsh wind echoing through the hollow of the cave. Snotlout doesn’t begin to shiver until the fire begins to fester into nothingness, but Hiccup’s been shuddering since he’d taken the water. They’re down to their last few pieces of cloth, a grim warning sign that time is running out, but no sign of life has shown itself aside from the two of them.

“We need more kindling,” Hiccup says, more to himself, but he doesn’t have the energy to strip again. Should they make it out of here alive, he vows to sew his satchel to his shoulder. Or perhaps his leg. When in doubt: always his leg.

“If you lose anymore clothing, I’m setting _myself_ on fire,” Snotlout mumbles, and Hiccup shoots him a weak glare. His stump aches so bad, he wishes the cold would just take away his ability to feel altogether—consequences be damned. Snotlout, either oblivious or uncaring to Hiccup’s inner plight, continues, “What does it matter, anyway? Base is almost gone.”

“It’ll manage another few hours.” Hiccup palms at his forehead, grimacing at the full-blown headache that’s taken up residence in his skull. Eighteen years on Berk and her harsh, brutal winters, and it’ll be an ice cave in the middle of the Barbaric Archipelago that does him in. “Better than nothing, alright? Unless you want to freeze to death, in which case, feel free to give that swimming idea a go.”

Snotlout rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Maybe it’s the delirium of the cold, the way the ice has settled so bitterly as a home for them, but Hiccup can’t stop himself: he laughs. It’s a choked noise, ripped from his parched throat, but then he’s doubled over, cradling his ribs as he breathes through his nose and shakes with it. It’s not funny, not really; they’re stuck on some abandoned wasteland of glacial nature, slowly freezing to death, while their dragons are gods know where. He feels the loss so deeply to his bones that it hurts to breathe, an emptiness in the hollow of his ribcage, and yet he can’t stop laughing, hyperventilating as the weight of it slowly crushes him. He yearns for Toothless, for the swell of his wings and the solidness of his dragon’s body.

He realizes, dimly, that he’s panicking. That his hands are shaking from more than the cold, that the sweat beading on the back of his neck and on his brow is a dangerous, dangerous thing, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“—’on, c’mon, don’t do this to me here,” Snotlout is saying, and there’s a sharp, stinging _smack_ to his cheek that reverberates throughout his head. It startles him so bad, Hiccup gasps, nails clawing at the ground, digging up nothing but frozen soil. It should hurt. It doesn’t. “Hey, muttonhead, you’re fine, okay? As fine as we can be, y’know, stuck here. That’s not helping, is it? Just… don’t think about that. Think about… Gods, I don’t know. Look at me.”

A solid hand on his jaw, biting where it digs into his skin. He’s forced to meet Snotlout’s gaze, and there’s something like worry and fear that stares back at him so openly that Hiccup remembers that he has to breathe, that his lungs only work if he allows the passage of oxygen, and he inhales sharply, Snotlout nodding in encouragement as he says, “Yeah, good. In and out. Uh, slowly, don’t—don’t overwhelm yourself.”

So they sit, Snotlout’s fingers never leaving the curve of his jaw as he counts, and Hiccup relearns to breathe. By the time the adrenaline fades into something more akin to exhaustion, Hiccup wants to crawl into the nearest crack of ice and curl up, his own pride taking a hit, and he thinks Snotlout is thinking the exact same thing as his eyes roam everywhere except Hiccup.

Finally, hand coming away from Hiccup’s aching jaw, Snotlout says, “My mom used to do… that. For me. As a kid.”

“Oh,” Hiccup says numbly, dragging his knee up to his chest. “I… thanks.”

“They’ll be fine,” Snotlout barrels on, plopping himself down next to Hiccup. Their thighs brush, but there’s no warmth to be found, not in here. “Hookfang and Toothless. I know Hookfang wasn’t caught, so he’s probably out looking for us, or, y’know, getting help. And Toothless…”

_Is probably being tortured because of me._

“…he’s strong.” Snotlout nudges his shoulder, the last of the fire giving a weak fizzle. “Ten coins says he escaped and burned down the entire base.”

Hiccup snorts, resting his cheek on the bulk of his knee. From this angle, he can see the tension in Snotlout’s face, the pallor of his own skin and the cold clinging to his body; for all his bravado and stubbornness, he’s as human as the rest of them. Without warning, Snotlout begins tearing at the belt around his waist, the fur of his boots, and it takes Hiccup’s sluggish brain to catch up to what’s doing.

“Wait,” Hiccup protests, sitting up. “Wait, Snotlout—”

“Shut up, Hiccup.” He sighs, arranging the belt into a nest, along with Hiccup’s shoulder guards and what’s left of the base of his leg. It’s a shoddy pit at best, but he tosses in the torn fabric and furs, reaching for the discarded flint and begins hacking away at it, and all Hiccup can do is watch.

“You’re going to freeze,” Hiccup points out. Snotlout shrugs.

“So are you. Like you said: we need fire, and you’re already down a leg. Can’t get much worse, can it?”

Hiccup can name at least ten ways it can go horrifically wrong in the next hour, at the very least, but he chooses to remain silent.

The fire roars to life. It’s small and weak, but it’s something, and the small, pleased grin on Snotlout’s lips is worth it.

//

They lose track of time. Hiccup assumes somewhere around four hours they’ve been stranded, judging by the discolouration of his nails, and they’ve somehow kept the fire going since Snotlout had reignited it. Their small alcove reeks of sweat and ash, and the only consolation is that they have an endless supply of water—so long as they have a fire to melt it with.

Neither sleep, despite Hiccup’s desperation to the contrary.

“I could go for some of Heather’s yak chops,” Snotlout grumbles, staring at the fire. They haven’t moved from their perch against the wall, thigh-to-thigh, arms flush against each other. It offers little body heat to share, but it’s better than when they had been on opposite sides, some kind of divide. “Ugh, and her _sauce._ I bet they’re all eating it right now. They suck. They should be out looking for us, not _eating_.”

Hiccup coughs on a laugh, gut roiling at the concept of food; he’s been trying to keep the water down in fear of dehydration setting in, but the more the minutes tick on, the worse it’s becoming.

“I want a bath,” he says instead, scooting down the wall to be level with Snotlout. His spine burns from both the cold and disuse, and he’s beginning to feel the telltale sign of mild delirium. Fantastic. “A hot bath. Toothless’-plasma-blast kind of hot.”

Snotlout snorts, lurching forward to poke the fire back to life; the loss of contact has Hiccup frowning, but Snotlout is back just as quick.

“I’m never getting off Hookfang,” he mutters, either oblivious to Hiccup’s need for contact or ignoring it for both of their pride. “Perma-Hookfang fire, man. I’m never letting my butt freeze again.”

“Assuming we have butts if we get out of here.”

There’s a beat of silence, then: “ _When_. Not if. We’re getting out of here, idiot.”

Hiccup gives a shrug, jerky and barely there, but Snotlout must feel it.

“Viggo’s gonna be disappointed,” Hiccup murmurs, the fire crackling, casting shadows over the darkness of the cave. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost picture the man’s smug face, watching him, the fall of the dragon trainer, the one that’s standing between him and his operations. “Didn’t get to kill me himself.”

“I know I say this a lot,” Snotlout grinds out, teeth grit, and Hiccup tears his gaze away from the fire to see Snotlout glaring coldly at him, “but _shut up_. Gods, just—do you even hear yourself?”

Before he can say anything, Snotlout continues harshly, “You stupid, self-sacrificing _idiot_. Y’know, I made that joke about eating your corpse, but you’d probably insist on it!”

The tension from earlier is back, the cave thick with it, and whatever Snotlout is going on about has clearly been brewing for awhile; Hiccup errs on the side of caution, leaning away and schooling his expression as Snotlout just… _stares_. Angry. _Furious_. Wherever this is coming from, Hiccup isn’t prepared, and a part of him wants to just pass out here and now and deal with it later, but Snotlout shakes his head and laughs incredulously.

“Thor, you don’t even see it, do you?” he snaps, throwing his hands up, slamming them back on the floor. If it stings, he shows no signs. “The arrow, the Skrill? And then I thought you having a bounty might be funny, because it’s _you_ , but then you went and got your ass kidnapped, and almost _died_ for it. We saw what you looked like after that, Hiccup.”

— _chain around his throat, ribs cracking under a fist_ —

“…and then Heather sees you going off on your own for a scout, and I pulled the short straw to haul after you!”

“I didn’t ask you to come!” Hiccup yells, and if he wasn’t down to a single gods-damned leg, he’d up and leave, find some fresh air. He can’t _breathe_ in here. Snotlout is on his knees, facing him, and Hiccup can’t reel back any further if he tried. “I would have been back in a few hours! I would have been _fine_!”

“You’d be stuck here _alone_ —”

“And your death wouldn’t be on _MY HANDS!_ _”_

He screams, his own fists slamming the ice so hard he knows he’s split the skin, but his breath is coming in ragged spurts and something must click within Snotlout because the fight drains out of him and Hiccup wants to curl up and sleep and let the cold take him. It’s a passing thought, a product of their predicament, but gods, he wants Toothless so bad, the lump in his throat _hurts_.

Snotlout slumps back against the wall, head in his hands; Hiccup, breathing heavily and fueled on adrenaline, has no idea what to do with himself. The sweat on his face is cooling, which means he’s made it worse for himself, and he feels sick to his stomach. Something between them has broke, and he’s not sure if he can fix it. If it _can_ be fixed.

“I always wanted your spot,” Snotlout begins quietly, picking at the ground. Hiccup blinks, not daring to move. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he should deal with the fact that his hands are bleeding, but Snotlout is speaking to him and that’s—that’s a good thing. “You got to be the chief’s son. I was your dumb cousin. And then you turned out to be a runt, weak and annoying and always screwing things up—”

“Thanks,” Hiccup interjects, more out of annoyance. Snotlout rolls his eyes, but presses on.

“—but _smart_. Didn’t figure that out until, you know, after everything.”

Hiccup shrugs; it’d taken a long, long time, but years of forged friendship had allowed room for forgiveness.

“I’m supposed to be the one to protect _you_ ,” Snotlout mutters, finally, _finally_ looking at Hiccup, angry and scared and too much for Hiccup to handle. “Damn it, Hiccup. You’re our leader, alright? I get that, my dad be damned. But you’re also _family_. And—and, just. Stop trying to get yourself killed.”

It’s the closest thing to a confession Hiccup’s heard from Snotlout, so brutally honest, and Hiccup is left speechless; he settles back against the wall, a hair’s breadth from his cousin, and considers.

The walls will take these words to their grave, he supposes.

“I’m not trying to get myself killed,” he says lowly, swiping his tongue over cracked lips. Snotlout works methodically, scooping out more of the ice and beginning the melting process all over again. An admittance: “I froze. When I saw Ryker again.”

“Yeah.” He hands Hiccup the guard, grabbing the other one to melt some more. Hiccup drinks, though his stomach isn’t happy with this. “I noticed. What happened, anyway? When…”

Hiccup sips slowly, the water burning his throat. Swallowing is tricky, and with the adrenaline gone, all that’s left is something like an aching numbness—sore and brittle, yet he’s too far gone to notice.

“It was the masked man,” he explains, only startling when Snotlout reaches for his free hand. Snotlout glares at him, daring him to argue, so he doesn’t. “Uh… I tried. To run. He caught me with a chain around my throat.”

Snotlout whistles, immersing Hiccup’s bloody hand in the water. It stings something fierce, the split and ragged skin biting back at the intrusion, but better than an infection.

“Ryker only punched me in the stomach,” Hiccup finishes with a shrug, laughing at himself. “Cracked a few ribs. Not sure why seeing him freaked me out, but here we are.”

Snotlout wrinkles his nose, considers, then says quietly, “I mean, my dad broke my ribs a few times. Still freaks me out.”

It’s no secret that Spitelout is a loss for love, that Snotlout is a product of that, of insecurity and pettiness and a drive to be superior; but to hear him admit it, to Hiccup and to the open maw of the ice, Hiccup wants to scream.

“Snotlout,” he starts carefully, but his cousin won’t look at him. “Hey—”

“Don’t.” Snotlout is focused, cleaning Hiccup’s hand with a rigidness to his frame. “Don’t—I don’t want your stupid pity, or your sympathy, okay? Just… don’t.”

“You’re better than him,” he says instead, dropping his head back against the wall. There’s so much more he could say: that Snotlout is fifty times the man Spitelout could ever hope to be, that Snotlout has achieved more in eighteen years than Spitelout has in his entire life, that Snotlout, even now, even with his insecurities and his brashness, cares more for human and dragon life than Spitelout does for his _son_. 

They fall into a silence, not quite comfortable but not nearly as tense, and Hiccup’s hand eventually loses feeling. Snotlout wraps it with warmed fur, something Hiccup hadn’t even seen him do, and repeats the same steps on his other injuries; he regrets his outburst, if only because that’s another tally of pain to stack up against him in this place. 

“There,” Snotlout mutters, tying off the last of the fur. Hiccup attempts to flexes his fingers, but they’re white and numb and unresponsive. Snotlout sighs. “Hiccup, we need a plan.”

“I know,” he says.

They simply stare at each other.

//

Less than an hour passes.

It happens suddenly: Hiccup shifts, just slightly, where he and Snotlout are settled against each other. Pain shoots so violently up his leg he bites his tongue, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood, and his stomach roils. He has less than a second to lurch away from Snotlout before he’s retching, acid and bile and water spilling from his mouth; there’s no food in him to toss up. Snotlout curses loudly, and there’s a hand on his back that’s a little too rough to be comforting.

“Okay, uh…” Snotlout’s hand presses against his forehead, and Hiccup jerks away from the touch, heaving. “Okay, you don’t really have a fever, so—”

“Not sick,” Hiccup manages, swallowing the disgusting taste in his mouth. He begs his body to calm itself. “Pain—leg. S’pain.”

He’s being lowered onto the ground, a jerky movement that his stomach _does not appreciate_ , and he has no energy left to give when Snotlout rolls up the leg of his pants.

“Oh, Thor,” Snotlout breathes, and Hiccup wants to shout at him because yes, his leg is kind of a disaster—it comes with the territory of having it burned and cauterized and bitten off by your best friend when being saved from imminent catastrophe—but Snotlout doesn’t give him the chance to. “Hiccup, we need a plan, like… yesterday. Your leg is… it’s turning black, and I’m not a healer, I’m not Fishface, I don’t know what the Hel I’m doing, but I know that if we stay here any longer, you’re gonna end up losing more of a limb.”

Hiccup groans, attempting to push himself back up, but Snotlout keeps him pinned with hands on his chest.

“Nope, no,” he mutters, and Hiccup watches as he quickly prods at the fire, the thing barely sustaining itself. Snotlout seems to contemplate something, glancing between Hiccup, the walls, the fire, and then back to Hiccup. “Okay. Okay, guess I’m doing this.”

Hiccup blinks slowly, mind taking its sweet time catching up. Snotlout lowers himself to the ground, throwing his arm over Hiccup’s hip, tugging him close.

“If you tell _anyone_ about this,” he growls, cheeks flushed, “I will have Hookfang _eat_ you.”

The cave echoes with their ragged breathing, the two of them locked in a battle of wills, and then Hiccup is laughing all over again. Calmer, this time; relaxed.

“I’m serious!” Snotlout pouts at him, glaring with all the force the chill allows him. “If I promise enough fish, he’ll do it, alright? So don’t even think about. And don’t you _dare_ tell the twins, oh my _Thor_ —”

“Snotlout,” Hiccup says, grinning, throwing his own arm over Snotlout’s hip. It’s meager body heat at best, but it’s better than nothing. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna tell them. They’d never let us live it down.”

Snotlout doesn’t lose the glare, but it softens as he breathes out shakily. “Fine. Okay. But my threat still stands.”

Still, like this, Hiccup is _cold_ ; he’s shivering, the floor as sharp as the rest of the alcove, and Snotlout’s leg wraps around Hiccup’s left, effectively cutting off some of the chill to his stump. It draws a hissed exhale from him, a slice of pain so deep he wants to scream, and Snotlout looks genuinely apologetic, but he doesn’t move; Hiccup doesn’t ask him to.

“We can’t sleep,” Snotlout states.

“No.”

“And you’re gonna die of hypothermia by morning.”

“Probably.”

Snotlout sighs.

//

Hiccup dozes in and out, desperate to stay awake, but his body fighting it all the same.

Snotlout struggles, too; every time he so much as jerks, Hiccup snaps his eyes open, Snotlout staring wide and panicked for a split second before relaxing, only to tense back up. Hiccup spares moments to wonder what he dreams about, what he sees beyond the darkness; his own dreams are plagued with old nightmares, of the loss of Toothless, but lately it’s been Viggo he sees, sometimes Ryker. Hiccup has an inkling that what Snotlout sees is someone closer to home.

It’s the closest they’ve ever been, and under better circumstances, maybe he’d dissect it.

Right now, all Hiccup wants is to sleep.

“H-hey,” Snotlout mutters, voice so thick with cold, it pains Hiccup to hear it. “N-no, sleep, r-remember?”

Hiccup hums, tucking his head under Snotlout’s chin and curling up. He doesn’t care; another hour or two, and they won’t make it. Their time is running out. He has many regrets to leave in here, and the biggest one is allowing Snotlout to rot away with him. Should anyone find them, he can only hope that they get to Snotlout first. Hiccup will die before his cousin. There’s no doubt about that.

“ _Wake up_ ,” Snotlout snaps, a hand across his cheek again. Weaker. It stings, but only slightly. “N-not yet, m-mutto…”

He trails off, teeth chattering so bad, Hiccup can feel it through his own skull. If hunters find them, they can’t fight. If a wild dragon finds them, they’ll be destroyed; he prefers the latter, in all honesty.

“I’m n-not letting u-us die,” Snotlout breathes, gripping Hiccup so tight, he almost wishes he’d break. Just to feel something. Some sort of warmth. “I _won_ _’t_.”

//

There’s a crash, a wicked burst of light that Hiccup groans at; the body around his disappears, and he grunts, barely awake as he struggles to see what the commotion is about. Maybe the hunters have found them, in which case, he can only hope it’ll be swift—if Snotlout puts up a fight, they might stand a chance. He doubts it. Gods, everything hurts.

He cracks his eyes open, trying to catch sight of something, but he’s met with nothing but a pile of roasted fabric and light spilling from the cracks above him. Snotlout is gone, and Hiccup shudders; maybe he found a way out, or found rescue. He can only hope. Some good has to come from this, he figures. The gods have been toying with them for the past… how many hours has it been now? He’s lost track.

He closes his eyes, finding a small bit of comfort in the potential thought of Snotlout being _okay_ , and mourns when the resounding crack from earlier reverberates through the cave. It rouses him enough to lift his head, and Hiccup tries desperately to pinpoint the noise, but… nothing. If someone is coming for him, to finish him off, he prays they’ll hurry. He can’t feel his legs. Or his hands, for that matter. His head hurts.

Another crash, and his stomach lurches, bile spilling from his lips as he heaves.

“ _Thor_ , I leave you alone for like, thirty seconds—Hookfang! Hookfang, in here, c’mon.”

Oh. That’s Snotlout. Not a hunter then, which is good, because Hiccup really, really doesn’t want to die by some ugly man’s swing of an axe. They all look the same. It’d be a pitiful way to go, even for him.

“Still no fever… pain? Hiccup, where does it hurt?”

“Can’t,” he grumbles, and he’s being heaved off the floor. He goes limp, which ignites some of the feeling back into his body and _gods_ that’s—everything burns and he thinks he might be screaming because Snotlout nearly drops him.

“Shit, Hiccup, I’m sorry, but we need to get you out of here, alright? Hookfang found us, just hold on.”

 _Hookfang_.

Hookfang is safe. Snotlout is safe. Maybe, by the gods, Toothless is, too.

Someone screams.

In the back of his mind, before he lets the familiarity of the cold settle back into his bones, he realizes it’s himself.

//

“…think he’s waking up. Don’t look at me like that! I tried, okay, I even _cuddled him_.”

Snotlout.

Hiccup moans, which is an immediate mistake, because his throat burns hotter than a Fireworm; something is pressed against his lips and he swallows greedily, but it’s gone, and Hiccup has the overwhelming urge to cry.

“Slow,” Snotlout tells him, and Hiccup manages to open his eyes. They’re still in the cave, but—there’s light. Closer to the entrance, then. And, gods, everything is sore. “You’re really, really dehydrated.”

Hiccup nods, leaning back against the dragon behind him—

Wait. Dragon.

Hookfang gives a low growl, nuzzling gently at Hiccup’s arm, and Hiccup grins; when he looks to Snotlout for an explanation, he spots the drying tear-tracks on his cousin’s cheeks, the paleness of his face, the bite to his skin from the cold.

“He found us,” Snotlout explains, coming over to rest his head against Hookfang’s. Hookfang croons softly, an exhausted sound. “Before you panic, Toothless is here, too—

“What?” Hiccup moves to stand, but Hookfang’s hind leg pins him down. “What—no, I have to, I—”

“Stop, Hiccup,” Snotlout says quietly, so gently that Hiccup pauses, the panic ebbing. “He’s alright. He’s searching for stuff to burn.”

Hookfang gives a snort, Hiccup still poised to flee, but with one leg and most of his body numb and cracked with frozen, stiff joints, well.

“Besides,” Snotlout continues, taking the empty space next to Hiccup, a hand on Hookfang’s flank, “Toothless wanted to warm you up, but he… he can’t. He’s too cold. Hookfang brought him here, _carried_ him, and they’ve been walking around looking for us. They’re both exhausted. You were…”

There’s a sorrowful croon, a sound Hiccup’s only heard once from Hookfang, and Snotlout scratches him carefully under his chin.

“You were pretty much dead,” he says, shrugging. “Hookfang had to warm you up slowly, and Toothless was panicking. When we were sure you weren’t gonna kick it, we convinced him to go get something to burn for a fire. Hookfang is too tired to fly.”

Hookfang shakes out his wings at this, bristling. _I_ _’ll do what I must._

“Yeah, no,” Snotlout mutters, never ceasing in his ministrations. “I’m not pushing you to that brink again. We can manage one more night, now that you guys are here.”

So much is happening; the last time Hiccup was awake, he had been prepared to die, and now he’s here, cocooned in Hookfang’s warmth and wings and legs, Snotlout sharing a look with his dragon Hiccup can only begin to decipher. Feeling is slowly returning to his limbs, but it’s more a curse than anything; with every jostle comes sharp, awful pain, a claw of burning ache that leaves him nauseated, and he closes his eyes while Hookfang readjusts to accommodate both humans in his span.

When the patter of paws just outside the entrance echo, Hiccup forgoes his injuries and shoots back up, startling both Hookfang and Snotlout—he hadn’t even realized they were talking—and Hookfang holds him back with his tail.

“Hiccup, _Thor_ , you’re gonna lose your leg if you move too much,” Snotlout mutters, but Toothless comes bounding in with a mouthful of shattered wood and he’s—he looks exhausted, that cling of tiredness that’s all too familiar, but he’s whole and Hiccup _keens_ , clawing his way out of his makeshift cocoon to reach for his dragon. Toothless whines, catching Hiccup as he goes, and Toothless is cold to the touch but so, so familiar that Hiccup’s eyes sting with the bitterness of tears.

He’s alive. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hiccup breathes into his neck, only dimly aware that Snotlout and Hookfang are witnessing this, that his knees are digging uncomfortably into the ground and his body is _screaming_ at him. “Toothless, bud, I’m so sorry.”

Toothless huffs, hot breath on Hiccup’s neck that sends shivers down Hiccup’s spine— _you_ _’re hurt you’re hurt stop this._

Hiccup laugh-sobs, because Toothless had been gone, had been in ropes and chains and now he’s here, whole and bruised but alive, and that’s more than Hiccup can ask for.

“Hiccup,” Snotlout says, tugging at his arm, but Hiccup refuses to let go. Maybe it’s delirium, or maybe it’s because his body is still ten degrees colder than it should be, but if he loses his grip on Toothless, he’s terrified Toothless will disappear. “C’mon, Hiccup, you gotta stay warm—Toothless, help me out here.”

Toothless, nudging Hiccup away, directs him back into Hookfang’s outstretched wings; Hiccup is mildly betrayed, but Toothless curls up around him, head in his lap, and that’s—that’s okay. They’re alive. All of them, here, and hadn’t it been just hours ago that Hiccup had accepted his fate?

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Snotlout grumbles, scooping up the rotting wood and piling it. Hiccup just watches, body weightless with relief, as Snotlout works, Toothless lighting the fire without prompt. “We’ll stay here for the night so Hookfang can rest, and then start heading out tomorrow.”

“Toothless can’t fly,” Hiccup murmurs, hand a rhythmic glide over the scales of Toothless’ forehead. “I can’t leave him here.”

Snotlout shakes his head. “We’re not. We’re gonna fly on Hookfang, and Hookfang is gonna carry Toothless. We’ll have to stop, but it’s nine hours to the Edge, right? Think we can make it, Hooky?”

Hookfang growls, head swiveling in consent. _Of course_.

“Okay. So that’s the plan. For now, you’re gonna sit your butt there, and pray to the gods that your leg doesn’t get any more frostbitten than it already is.”

Toothless warbles at Hookfang, and while Hiccup could keep up with their Dragonese at any other time, his mind is begging off for some sort of rest; he nestles between the two of them, Hookfang’s wing wrapped like a protective blanket around his shivering form, and the rise and fall of Toothless’ chest keeps him grounded to the here and now.

//

He doesn’t sleep well.

As his flesh and blood becomes accustomed to heat once again, a constant thrum of pain ignites itself beneath his skin. He can’t get comfortable, no matter how hard he tries, and he doesn’t want to wake up those sleeping around him; Snotlout is sound asleep, Hookfang’s snout resting on his clavicle, and Toothless is perched over Hiccup’s lap.

He just… can’t.

If he throws up, the water comes with it, so he fights off the nausea as best he can. Instead, he focuses on this: Toothless, warming beneath the tips of his fingers, still purpling, as he strokes the buds of his ears; the way Toothless’ front legs furl around Hiccup’s abdomen, protective and sturdy; the beating of a dragon heart against Hiccup’s spine, Hookfang alive and well behind him. Snotlout is snoring, a sound that’s so loud yet so comforting in this hollow, and it eventually eases the roll of his stomach as the minutes tick on.

 _You_ _’re in pain_ , Toothless chirps, quiet as he stares up at Hiccup. Hiccup breathes carefully through his nose, smiling softly.

“I’m alright, bud,” he whispers, stroking the underside of Toothless’ chin. “Just cold.”

Toothless knows he’s lying, because of course he does. Careful not to wake the other two, Toothless maneuvers to Hiccup’s aching leg, nosing at his stump, and Hiccup grimaces; there’s a very real chance it’s blackened, bitten by the ice, and he’s too afraid to look at it for himself. He gives wordless permission for Toothless to edge at the hem of his pants, exposing his leg to the air once again, and there’s a miserable croon before a cool, wet tongue is pressed up against his stump.

And, oh _gods_ , it hurts—not the burn of cold, or a sharp, awful pain, but an incessant burn, slow and relieving and leaving him breathless. Toothless doesn’t _lick_ , just holds him there, urging the swollen and iced skin to heal, and Hiccup’s eyes sting with tears.

Finally, Toothless pulls away, wrinkling his nose and spitting out onto the ground; black blood mixed with saliva comes away, and Hiccup vows not to look at his leg for a long, long time. Toothless pays no mind, easing back to his leg and giving gentle, careful licks, stemming the fresh flow of blood, and the pain has receded to nothingness—just a comfortable numbing. He’ll need to have it wrapped and treated once on solid ground, but this is as close to medical care that he has, and Toothless is—

Toothless is looking at him with such open, heartbreaking worry that Hiccup surges forward, wrapping his arms around his dragon’s neck, breathing quiet sobs into his neck. The past day—few days? nights?—catch up to him, the hopelessness, the chill of nature’s endless ice digging itself into his body, the thought of Snotlout rotting here with him. Of leaving Toothless alone, of having _left_ Toothless alone on that ship, and something inside of him snaps, sharp and crooked and jagged.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, clinging so tightly so he doesn’t fall apart. “I didn’t—didn’t want to leave you—”

 _You didn_ _’t, you didn’t_ , Toothless croons, licking at his hair, his face, concerned and desperate. _You_ _’re alright. You’re alright_.

They stay like that, Hiccup hanging onto Toothless, Toothless curled around Hiccup to keep him steady, and by the time the morn’s light breaks through, Hiccup is fast asleep.

//

“Before you say anything,” Snotlout declares, hands on his hips as he towers over Hiccup, “this is a _good plan_.”

He’s bathed in the early morning sunlight, a splash of colour to his skin that’s been stoked by Hookfang’s heat, and he looks far, far better than he did less than twelve hours ago. Hiccup’s still comfortable where he’s resting between two dragons, Hookfang snorting at Snotlout’s declaration, and Hiccup chuckles at the two of them while Toothless languidly stretches out his tight limbs.

“It is,” Hiccup reassures, taking Snotlout’s offered hand as he’s lugged to his foot. It’s going to be hell trying to get back, but it’s their only chance—if they stay any longer, even with their dragons, they’re risking too much. Leaning on Snotlout for support, he dislodges the map from its place in his bracer and hands it over. “Think you can map out some stops for Hookfang to rest?”

Snotlout nods resolutely, helping Hiccup over to Toothless. He’s tired of sitting and doing nothing, and he has more energy than he’s had since they’ve been stranded.

“We can’t stop on Glacier Island for obvious reasons,” Snotlout mutters, skimming over the map, “but there’s some sea stacks that should make a good in-between point. Uh…”

Hiccup nods encouragingly; he’s not much help anyway, and Snotlout has clearly thought this over.

“Yeah. So. We’ll do that.”

“Okay,” Hiccup agrees, Toothless shaking out his wings in preparation for being lugged over the water. It won’t be pleasant. “I know, bud, but I can’t fly you without my leg, or your tailfin.”

Toothless nuzzles his hand, displeased but understanding nonetheless, and Hookfang saunters over with a snort.

“We’ll have to stay high, out of sight,” Snotlout continues, stamping out the little bit of fire left from the night. “I dunno if anyone trailed Hookfang here, but I don’t want to take the chance.”

Hookfang snorts at this, aggrieved by such an assumption— _how dare you imply such a thing_ —but Snotlout only rolls his eyes, shoving the map between Hookfang and the saddle.

“Yeah, I trust you not to be followed, but I _don_ _’t_ trust Viggo’s stupid men not to hunt down Hiccup for gutting purposes.”

“Morbid,” Hiccup offers, cocking an eyebrow. Toothless growls, but there’s no real heat behind it, and Hiccup shrugs. “In my defense, Viggo said he wants to kill me personally, so we really only have to worry about kidnapping. I’m more worried about you guys.”

“Don’t be,” Snotlout mutters, Hookfang huffing at the very notion. Hiccup raises his hands, placating the two.

“Alright,” he mumbles, debating how he’s going to hobble his way over to Hookfang. His leg might be numb, but the rest of his body is a canvas of sore, aching limbs, thawing from the cold.

Snotlout, making the decision for him, offers his arm. “I didn’t go through all this for you to die on me before we get home,” he says tightly. “Let’s go.”

So Hiccup nods, draping one arm over Snotlout’s shoulders while Snotlout supports him around his hips. It’s an awkward few steps, Hookfang lowering himself as much as possible to the ground, and Snotlout heaves him onto the dragon’s back, Toothless nudging him up in support. It flares up every inflamed joint he has, and by the time he’s settled in the saddle, he’s sweating and breathing harshly through his teeth, desperate to keep a hold of his stomach.

 _He_ _’s sick_ , Hookfang growls, concern bleeding with frustration, and Hiccup tries to answer but Snotlout does it for him.

“He’s not sick—I mean, he might be, but it’s from the pain. We just… we can’t jostle him much. His leg.”

 _Not leg_ , Toothless is growling, and Hiccup wants to go back to last night, to the warmth of Toothless wrapped around him. _Body. Humans not meant to be cold._

“Yeah, winter hates us,” Snotlout grumbles, climbing in front of Hiccup. Gods, he might actually be sick again, and that’ll just slow them down; instead, he leans back against the leather, gripping the handles beneath him. “Listen, if we’re gonna do this, you’re going to need to hold on. You fall into the water, you’re dead.”

Hiccup realizes belatedly he’s talking to him, not Toothless, and opens his eyes—ah, that’s a problem, because he’s drifting in and out again, isn’t he?—and his hands are being snaked around Snotlout’s middle.

“Hold on,” Snotlout snaps tersely, and Hiccup nods, giving up any pretense of dignity or pride. Neither of them have any left; it’s been burned away with his tunic, Snotlout’s belts and furs. He lets his head fall on Snotlout’s shoulder, hunched over, and pleads to whatever gods are listening that he can manage a few more hours.

“Okay,” Snotlout breathes, knuckles white around Hookfang’s horns. “Slow and steady, yeah? Let’s give it a try.”

The first taste of fresh air is one Hiccup will never forget.

//

They make it to the first sea stack with relative ease, a few hours of gliding. The sun is still low in the sky, the clouds offering them decent cover, and if Hookfang is struggling he shows no sign. 

When they land, they land carefully; Hookfang is careful, Toothless leaping from his claws with little grace, pacing frantically on the ground as the Nightmare rests his own limbs. Hiccup’s head aches from the brightness of the world around them, but he knows that the longer they take to rest, the more time it’ll take to return; he has no choice but to take Snotlout’s arm, climb off, and sit on the cold, wet ground.

“Nothing but snow,” Snotlout complains, stretching out his limbs. “Seriously, why couldn’t we have landed somewhere nicer? Why’d it have to be ice and _snow_?”

Hookfang huffs a laugh, smoothing himself into a ball to doze, and Hiccup rubs at the back of his neck. Toothless noses at his leg, curious, and Hiccup offers him a shrug—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to look to find out, but Snotlout narrows his eyes at the two of them.

“Toothless,” Snotlout starts, kneeling down next to Hiccup with all the grace he can muster, which, in Hiccup’s opinion, isn’t much. “How bad is it?”

Toothless gestures to his stump, sniffing. _Check_.

“Betrayal,” Hiccup mutters, slapping away Snotlout’s hand. “We’re almost back to the Edge, it can wait.”

Snotlout, frustration clear in the twitch of his fingers, doesn’t abate. “If you want to lose more of your leg, that’s on you. If not, let us help.”

Hiccup meets his gaze; Toothless is miserable where he’s sitting, eyes wide and pleading, and Hiccup deflates.

“Fine,” he says, hands shaking as he yanks the hem up. He had vowed not to look, to not see the damage done, and yet here he sits.

It’s… not as bad as he was expecting. It’s certainly awful, black where the ice has bit, dried blood in others, but Toothless has healed some of it. Looking at it, the visceral gore of it, mottled with scars and bruises and the claws of frost, has him retching before he can stop himself, and Toothless growls as Hiccup expels what’s left in his stomach.

“It’s infected,” Snotlout groans, and Hiccup would laugh if he wasn’t heaving his way through two days’ worth of snow. Snotlout’s hand is on his forehead, cool to the touch, and Hiccup leans into it. “Oh, _c_ _’mon_ , of course—yeah, you have a fever, okay. We need to get you back.”

“Hookfang… needs rest,” Hiccup manages, spitting out the bile in his mouth.

 _You need food._ Toothless paces around him, licks at his neck. _You need help_.

“You said it yourself: we’re almost to the Edge,” Snotlout says, and Hiccup buries his face in the crook of Toothless’ neck. “Hey, Hooky? Think we can speed this up a bit? Hiccup’s gonna kick the bucket a lot faster than we thought.”

 _Fragile humans_. Hookfang stands in a flurry of wings and fire, heating himself for the ride, and Hiccup groans when Snotlout yanks him up without warning.

“Jeez, you’re frickin’ heavy,” he grumbles, carrying him to Hookfang, and Hiccup wants to protest, but he can’t find his voice. “I remember when you weighed as much as Terrible Terror.”

A lifetime ago. All of it seems so far away.

He sleeps.

//

He dreams in snatches: a brimming fire, a gaping maw of death. Poison flooding his veins. Wicked grins, chains around him that won’t give. Screams that tear his throat to pieces, a cough that shreds his lungs and shatters his ribs. He thinks, maybe, he sees flashes of familiarity, of faces he recognizes. His dad, perhaps, or a trick of the light. What he doesn’t see is an end, just flickers of this _thing_ , over and over until he’s sure he’s dead and this is his punishment.

He loses his leg—once, twice, three times. Ripped and torn, until sinew and bone are all that’s left. It burns hotter than anything he’s felt, and the yell that’s torn from him haunts him in every subsequent dream. Nightmare. These snatches, he supposes.

He wishes it would end.

//

Warmth.

Wood; a nest of soft fur and quilts. Quiet, gentle voices.

Hiccup comes to, and what he first notices is the absolutely _awful_ taste in the back of his mouth, followed by the pounding ache in the base of his skull. Part of him briefly panics, stuck in the crevices of the cave, but the logical part of his mind catches up first—he’s somewhere warm, somewhere safe, and in a bed. That tucked away, he risks opening his eyes, and finds himself face-to-snout with a large, black Night Fury.

“Hi,” he croaks, clicking his tongue against his teeth to try and restore some feeling in his mouth. Toothless grins, tongue lolling out. _You_ _’re okay you’re okay you’re awake_.

Hiccup just gives a small smile, too exhausted to give anything more, and Toothless noses so, so carefully at his ribs.

“Ah, he’s awake,” a booming voice chimes in, startling Hiccup into alertness. He catches sight of his dad, grinning down at him, and a pang of guilt reverberates throughout his chest. “Gave us all quite a scare, son.”

“What’re…” he tries, clearing his throat. His dad reaches for something on the table before bringing it to Hiccup’s lips, and he’s grateful to find the pure taste of water being eased down his throat.

“We arrived a few days ago,” he explains, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Gothi and I. Fishlegs sent a Terror Mail as soon as Snotlout had landed.”

_Snotlout._

Hiccup lurches, immediately regretting it, and his dad guides him back to the bed with a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Hiccup,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Snotlout is fine. Had some frostbite and one Hel of an appetite, but he’s recovering. Hookfang is with him now.”

They made it; by some hand of the gods, they had made it back to the Edge. Hiccup inhales slowly, staring up at the ceiling—he’s in his own hut, surrounded by familiarity—and exhales just as carefully, the lump in his throat as raw as the rest of him. His dad places a hand on his knee, and when he speaks, it’s low and grave.

“Whatever you two went through,” he begins, smoothing back some of Hiccup’s hair, and Hiccup refuses to crack. He’s done enough of that. “Hiccup, look at me.”

He can’t. If he does, he’s going to lose it again, and he’s not even sure _why_ —they made it out! What happened on that island, in that alcove is left behind, rotting with whatever they left behind, yet Hiccup’s chest aches with something as fierce as the burn in his leg.

“Men have died in less time than the two of you spent stranded,” his dad says, hand on the curve of Hiccup’s jaw. His dad doesn’t realize it, because how could he, but all Hiccup can think of is the moment of panic when Snotlout had snapped him out of. “The important thing is that you’re both alright.”

“My leg,” Hiccup whispers, voice wrecked. He can taste the bile on his tongue from the last look he had seen of it, but his dad helps him pull back the blankets regardless. He has no tunic, just loose pants, and his abdomen is a mess of bruises; he doesn’t want to know. Not right now.

“It’s healing,” his dad says, untying the leg of his pants. His stump is covered in gauze and bandages, but it doesn’t look any shorter, so he counts that as a victory. “Gothi had to remove some… well, dead flesh, but nothing that won’t heal over. If Snotlout hadn’t gotten you back when he did, you’d have lost more.”

Hiccup sighs, dropping back against his pillow and rubbing at his eyes.

“I know,” he mumbles, pressing his palms so deep into his sockets, it hurts. “Snotlout reminded me many, many times of that.”

His dad chuckles, ruffling his hair as he says, “Yes, well, with good reason.”

They sit in silence for a bit, his dad absently scratching at Hiccup’s head, and Hiccup nearly falls asleep again; it’s only when his dad moves to stand does Hiccup jerk out of his half-sleep, blinking groggily at the towering figure.

“I have to head back to Berk,” he says, regret clear in his voice. “I wanted to make sure you woke. You have good people to look after you, son. Good friends. Take care of yourself.”

He nods, his dad’s arms encircling him, and he hugs back just as tight; no, he doesn’t want his dad to go, but they both have duties to look after, and Hiccup can only stay in bed for so long.

“And take it easy,” his dad adds, heading for the stairs. “Toothless, make sure he does!”

Toothless chirps, Hiccup laughing and waving a hand as he calls out, “Yeah, yeah. Bye, dad.”

//

Toothless doesn’t approve of this, and tells him as much with every step.

 _Hurt_ , he reminds Hiccup. _Hurt, pain. Hurt._

“Yeah, I know bud,” Hiccup grumbles, teeth grit as he hops along, steady as he holds on tightly to Toothless. Everyone had stopped by to see him: Ruff and Tuff had given him the run down of Chicken’s worry, the state of the Edge’s entertainment, and their lack of faith that Snotlout would ever bring their leader back; Fishlegs had hugged him so hard, Hiccup’s ribs, which are _definitely_ cracked, creaked in angered protest; and Astrid had just stared at him, until finally pulling him in for a tight hug, one that didn’t crush every bone in his body.

He had missed them so, so terribly. 

But Snotlout never showed. Maybe he’s still recovering, or maybe it’s something else; Hiccup doesn’t know, but he needs to, which finds him hobbling along in the middle of the night, careful of the bridge and the ladders, as Toothless chirps angrily at him in frustration. Getting to Snotlout’s hut is the easy part, really—talking to him will be the difficulty.

“Okay.” He exhales shakily, hands shaking from the effort it had taken to get to the stupid _S_ smacked above the door to his hut. He knocks once, but the only answer he gets is a Nightmare’s annoyed huff. He glances at Toothless.

 _Not you_ , Toothless growls. _At human._

Okay. That doesn’t help.

He knocks again. Still no answer.

He did _not_ come all this way, on one foot, while recovering from _hypothermia and shock_ , to be ignored by his cousin. Without preamble, he swings the door open, not prepared to see… well.

A very, very familiar scene.

Snotlout, curled up on the floor, Hookfang wrapped around him in a protective cocoon, clearly providing warmth; Hiccup spends more nights like this than not, but when Snotlout catches sight of Hiccup, his face flushes red and he stands, spluttering obscenities.

“ _Privacy_ , Hiccup! Get out!”

“I just—”

“Out! Get out!”

“Calm down!”

Snotlout is shaking, either from anger or something else, Hiccup isn’t sure. Toothless growls a warning— _your human calm him—_ and Hiccup thinks maybe, just maybe, this was a mistake. 

“You don’t just _barge_ into people’s huts!” Snotlout shouts, folding his arms across his chest. “Seriously, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Hiccup doesn’t want to fight. He doesn’t want to argue, or start a war, or have their usual back and forth—he’s tired, and he’s hurting, and he’s exhausted, so he simply says, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

That trips him up. Snotlout blinks, arms falling to his side, but the coldness of his glare is back just as quick.

“I’m fine,” he snaps, kicking at something on the floor. “Just… you know, tired. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup echoes, leaning against Toothless. “It has.”

Seconds tick idly by. Neither of them move, though Toothless and Hookfang growl at each other, Hiccup not bothering to keep up with them; judging by the look on Snotlout’s face, he doesn’t, either.

Snotlout, surprisingly, breaks the silence, rolling his eyes and consenting for Hiccup to come in.

“You look like death,” he says stiffly, taking up his previous position against Hookfang, “and with all the crap I went through to get you back here, I’m not letting you die on my floor, either.”

Hiccup chuckles, hobbling his way over to take a seat opposite of Snotlout, and Toothless settles in behind him. The weight off his foot is more of a relief than words can express, and it must show on his face, because Snotlout’s accusing look is tossed his way.

“Guess you’re still an idiot,” he teases, the anger from earlier mostly faded. Hiccup shrugs.

“Hadn’t seen you all day.”

“Knew you were fine, figured you didn’t need any more than that.”

“Snotlout,” Hiccup starts carefully, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. A loose one, because every single nerve of his body is tender. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

The laugh Snotlout gives is humourless, staring at Hiccup with such disbelief, he’s not sure which line he’s crossed this time. But then the laughter fades, and Snotlout sighs, shaking his head.

“You don’t remember, do you?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at Hiccup.

“I remember the stack,” he says honestly. “I remember seeing my leg, and that’s it.”

“You stopped breathing,” Snotlout states, a simple fact. “On our way back. We had to land, and I broke your ribs getting you to breathe. I didn’t even know that was possible, or what the hell I was doing, but I did it.”

Hookfang growls lowly, nuzzling at Snotlout’s shoulder. Hiccup’s breath gets caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

“Then we got back, and it just…”

“Hit you,” Hiccup finishes, Snotlout nodding.  

Snotlout presses on. “We had to… clean your leg. It was bad. You screamed a lot.”

The snatches of dreams, ones he only barely recalls, he realizes are memories—dim but there, buried in his subconscious. Fever dreams. Snotlout had stayed, then.

“I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, shoulders sagging. The tension seeps out of him, and Snotlout kicks his feet out, poking Hiccup’s good leg.

“You should be.” There’s real humour in his voice, something like healing, and Hiccup grins. “If I ever get stranded with your ass again, just promise me you won’t throw up on me. I had to burn those pants.”

Toothless gives a gummy laugh, licking a wet strip up Hiccup’s cheek, and Snotlout laughs at his expense; Hookfang retaliates by huffing fresh fish-breath into Snotlout’s face, laughing at the horrific recoil Snotlout gives, and Hiccup clutches his aching ribs at the sight.

 _Humans_ , Hookfang chirps, nudging at Snotlout’s cheek, and Snotlout strokes his nose. _Strange friends._

“Family,” Snotlout adds, glancing at Hiccup. “What kind of cousin would I be if I let this muttonhead freeze to death?”

Hiccup kicks his foot gently against Snotlout’s knee, still smiling.

“I can think of better ways to die,” he admits, Toothless nuzzling at his collarbone, the swell of his neck. Snotlout rolls his eyes, but there’s laughter in the upturn of his lips. “I prefer this, though.”

Snotlout nods, Hookfang curling around him. “That makes two of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to scream at me, i can be found @ [twitter](http://twitter.com/valleyglaciers) & [tumblr](http://valleyglaciers.tumblr.com) ♥


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